


The Why of Sand the Dalek Way

by ALC_Punk



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: halfamoon, Fic Insert, Ficlet, Gen, Humor, sand, this is very silly, this would never happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: Daleks really aren't built for sand, though Oswin is certainly sure she's built for vacations. Set during the events of "Holding Your Brave and Tattered Tiny Horses".
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Half a Moon: 14 Days of Celebrating Women





	The Why of Sand the Dalek Way

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a sequel, it's an episode insert for "Holding Your Brave and Tattered Tiny Horses ", and if I knew why I had this pop out and NOT a sequel, and a dollar, I could... well, actually, currently, I would just wait until Covid has died down. So. 
> 
> But anyway, this is set somewhere in the middle of the other fic, though doesn't really impact it much. And is mostly an excuse for verbosity and silliness. 
> 
> It was meant to be posted for day three, but I only just got round to it, unfortunately. It may also contradict portions of the aforementioned fic?
> 
> Title is as completely nonsensical as I could make it.

"This was not on my itinerary," Oswin informed Chance, as she trundled out the door of the TARDIS and took in the long and never-ending expanse of sand dunes. Behind her, he made a grumbling, uncertain noise.

It was the sort of noise she rather expected from him, these days. Any insult against his navigation skills, and there would be a positively obscene amount of sulking.

Sulking was rather wasted on a Dalek, of course. Oswin peered through her scope, then flopped back into her chair, crossing her legs, but letting her foot swing. Seriously, if he was allowed to sulk over navigational insults, what was she allowed to do with sand clogging up her casing, and getting in everywhere?

Even when she'd had a human body, she'd known the dangers of sand--not that she'd objected the time or two that she'd learnt about them, of course.

One side of her mouth tipped up in cheerful reminiscence before she huffed out a breath. "Seriously?"

"There's an outpost," he called from behind her.

"Can't see one," she muttered. A call that he was checking on something further in the TARDIS told her he hadn't heard her in the least. That left her with the option of retreating (which she could claim to be allergic to the sunlight, but he'd see through that with some sardonic remark about children and cookie jars).

So, brave new world, needs must, brave heart, and all of that. With a flair for the dramatic and some gusto, Oswin trundled forward into the sand. And promptly got stuck.

As she teetered precariously, she could see the future flash before her eyes: fallen into the deepest pits of sand, covered over by swathes of golden silt, choked, eventually.

"This was very poor planning!" She shouted from inside her casing. Not that he would hear her, wherever he was inside the TARDIS.

Oswin made an experimental move backwards, and could hear the grit getting into her wheels, making them whine.

Her casing gave a wobble.

It was quite undignified, not that Daleks were ever dignified, of course. They were more the sort who had never met a dinner jacket they wouldn't exterminate.

"Right--" she launched herself at her keys, hacking into the travel machine's schematics, working out the quickest route to solving the issue.

More lubrication in the joints and bearings would avail her little; they would just gum up further.

"If only I could fly," she mumbled, by-passing a system warning about strain and heat. More cold would help, but she was a Dalek in the sun, soaking up heat by the second from dual suns which were merciless even from where she was standing. Or sitting, really.

A part of her was basking in the heat, remembering the shimmering shoals on M23X Minor. She'd had quite a bit of fun, there. Pity she no longer was allowed that sort of fun.

Not many people wanted to have sex (or play any sort of beach sports) with a Dalek. Perhaps she could have rented herself out as a novelty dildo, but that didn't seem to really be a market she wanted to go into. Perhaps when Daleks stopped being a threat to the galaxy?

There was a sub-routine for coolant that she considered before deciding it wouldn't work for her current needs. Why she didn't just have some sort of shielding... Ah.

Back-tracking through hacks she's done ages ago, she finally found what she was looking for.

"Well. How was I to know we'd be surrounded and drowned in sand?" She asked no one in particular. "Wasn't as though Chance was all, 'Oh, let's pause our destruction of the Daleks for a beach vacation.' And I have asked."

Several key-strokes later, and re-set the proper shielding over her wheels.

They were still a bit gummed up, but now she wasn't in danger of eye-stalk-planting.

Hopefully.

She gave them a careful whirl, sending herself back into the TARDIS.

"Oh, good, we've got to go." Chance called from where he was fiddling with something at the console, "I've found another signal to follow."

There were always signals to chase. Oswin didn't heave a sigh, though she did sound a bit wistful when she replied. "Any good margaritas at the other end?"

"You know you can't actually drink them?"

Well, yes, she rather did. She thought that was quite the point she was very well aware of in all of this. Oswin sulked back to her comfortable chair, dropping in it to sling her legs over the arm. "Of course, but isn't it the thought that counts?"

"Only in tennis."

"I thought that was soldiers?"

"That, too."

Oswin thought for a moment, picturing umbrellas and tropical drinks in screamingly horrible colors. Then she smiled a bit. "Are there Daleks there?"

"Aren't there always?"

Yes. She supposed there were.


End file.
